


After the cupcakes

by my_thestral



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 18:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7856965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_thestral/pseuds/my_thestral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They never really talked about it but they are each other's world. And perhaps a lazy Sunday morning is as good a time as any to finally say something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the cupcakes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starstruck1986](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstruck1986/gifts).



> Darling, I felt awfully guilty for not running to your help when you were in a bad place the other time and you asked for a Harry/Ron story. I know it was smut you wanted, but I'm terrible at writing smut, so I wrote you a hopelessly cheesy ficlet instead and I hope you don't get diabetes afterwards. :) I hope the world is easy on you these days.

**H** e’s my life.

 **A** s he cuddles up to me in the wee hours of the morning, always looking for warmth he was never given, I just take him in my arms, and I wish I could wrap myself around him like a cotton ball and shelter him from the world that always wants a piece of him. And yes, if you break my arm, I’ll admit I might feel like bawling a little, watching him slumber away peacefully… until he starts snoring for a bit, then frowns and smiles all in one, and in the end snuggles up closer to me, as if even in his sleep he’s stuck in one of his adventures and wants me to come along. World is never truly at peace for Harry Potter, but… he looks happy. Now, you tell me, how is it, that someone as ordinary as I, Ronald Billius Weasley, can make the most wonderful man that ever lived happy by simply holding him in my arms, sleeping? Which stupid god gave _me_ , the plainest of all mortals, such power and such responsibility? God, I love him. I’m terrified I’ll make a mess of it and he’ll see the error of his ways and leave me behind.

 **R** eally, why doesn’t he? I often wonder about that. What’s keeping him by my side? What is it that I have to give that he wants so badly to stick around, wake up with me, put up with my gloomy attitude and bad jokes, drool over my miserable cooking and my sorry arse, and settle in my arms for the night after it’s all said and done, and we’ve fucked the head off each other’s shoulders and we’re too tired to slur out any more of our playful banter for the day? What do I have that is so special? I’m not particularly handsome: scrawny, ginger and freckled, come on – we all know there’s better. I’ve got no wealth to speak of, no social standing, and even in my family everyone is smarter than I! And I’m not… I wasn’t even a particularly good friend to him in the past. Not at all times. It still haunts me, you know. I could have lost him, and he’s my life, everything that was ever worth anything in it… and still, I left him, abandoned him, and even when I came back to him, I’ve done a shit job protecting him. _I let him die on my watch._ Can you imagine that? He’s my whole world and I let him die… to save the world that would have no meaning for me without him. But there’s always other people to consider and he taught me that lesson well. He’s always busy sacrificing himself for someone. Even now. As if he has eternal debt to pay simply for the fact that he’s still alive – something most people take with entitlement and as a given; having a right to live that is… Merlin, I’m not making any sense again, am I? I guess I’m trying to say that my Harry was never allowed to take anything for granted. And he doesn’t.

 **R** arely, when we’ve both had a shit day, we’re tired, hungry, pissed off, frustrated or all of those things, and our banter turns into a full-fledge fight with words flying that hurt worse than hexes, I catch a glimpse of how strong our ties are – and it amazes me… and it humbles me. Every.bloody.time. If anyone else dared lash at me with such brutal honesty, unforgiving sincerity, and uncompromising truthfulness as he does, I would have turned around and left them behind eons ago, probably hexed to the bone. But not my Harry. Because even in his darkest hour there is no malice in him, and he never forgets to stop just on the right side of loving me. There is fault a-plenty to him, but malice – none. You see, he killed it. Quite literally so. Took it out of himself and let it die. Now, how can I _not_ love a man like that? A man who even in the worst of fights merely holds up a mirror to my face and gives me a chance to see my true self – but keeps me from smacking against it and saves me from cutting myself on the shards. And even when I’m giving him my worst, it’s never enough to make him turn away from me. I give him my most bitter and my vilest, and he just takes it and makes more love out of it. Love for me. How does he do that? And why? I guess I’ll never know. My Harry truly is made of magic. So I try not to wonder too much. I try my hardest to accept gratefully. And to give back what little I can when I hold him through another one of his colourful, restless dreams, and guide him to peace.

 **Y** ou know, I do love him so. I love him with terrible, fierce, selfish, unforgiving love that will make me beg for the scraps of his heart if I ever had to. You think I should tell him? He probably knows, but still…

~

 **R** on is my world. My entire world. The beginning and the end of it. The lazy weekend mornings spent by munching on Molly’s cupcakes and sipping luke-warm coffee – and the hurried sloppy kisses _“oh, fuck it, come here, we’ll be late for work and so-fucking-what”_ on the regular days. The rainy days spent with my head in his lap, listening to the Wireless… and filled with slow, sweet fucking because it wouldn’t do to be bored. The sunny days of the Quidditch matches, howling for my team and sulking when they lost – but knowing he’ll be bursting with joy and he’ll have that beaming smile on his face that’s probably causing that global warming thing – and it’s kind of a little bit all right, maybe, because he hates losing, and I don’t mind it that much, not for him. The boring days without him, craning my neck for a sign of an owl that might bring a _“I had to throw some itchy powder over George to get a break, so get your lovely arse over here and buy me a cuppa and a Danish, I’m starving!”_ note, that will barely make me conceal a smile in order to look professional when I’m informing my co-workers I’ll _“just be dropping out for a minute to check on something”_.  The nights… oh, the nights that were always so bloody god-awful and terrifying without him, and are never short of perfect when he’s here, with me. I come alive at night in his arms; with my head buried in the crook of his lovely, enticing neck, and my hands resting on that muscular chest, I live for the heartbeat under his warm skin and inhale his wonderful, manly scent like a mad man, revelling in recognition that he’s truly mine. I’m all over him and sometimes inside him, and I can’t get enough of him, I can’t get under his skin deep enough, I can’t give him enough of myself. For me, it’s nothing short of a miracle every time he looks into my eyes and breathes my name before he disappears into a bliss only I can give him. Never before in my life did I have a reason to hope for such blessing.

 **O** nly – I do now, don’t I? Ever since he came into my life, opened that train compartment and stuck his freckly nose and a bright smile in it, I do. He doesn’t know – and I have no idea how to make him see, I’ve tried so many times to no avail. But how can he not know what a difference he made? It could have been our Hermione instead of him, and as much as I love the girl, I’d probably spend my Hogwarts days being lectured on the importance of knowing the troll wars, utterly lost in the magical world neither of us, Muggle-raised kids, could truly make sense of unguided. It could have been Malfoy… I shudder. No, even without Ron, it would have never been Malfoy; I’ve seen enough of his true colours in the half an hour spent at Madam Malkin’s. Perhaps Neville… yes, most likely Neville, and we could have had a club of sorry push-abouts. But it wasn’t. It was Ron, and to this day I cannot stop marvelling at the miracle of it. He simply stuck his ginger head into that compartment and into my life, and I still remember the sunrays reflecting off his bright, coppery locks, making him look all kinds of precious. For me, he was priceless. My very first real friend. Soon, my lover. And to this day, my everything. That sunlight he brought into my life never really waned. He casts his life-giving warmth, his fiery passion, and his red hot love on everyone around him, and he’s the only one who can’t see how brightly he shines. Oh, god help me, I do love him so. I wonder… would it make a difference if I told him… for all the world to see?

 **N** o, this is not the first time the thought has crossed my mind. I’ve been meaning to ask him to make it official since we were 20, and yet somehow it’s a decade later, and I still haven’t said the words. I suppose… I’m terrified he wouldn’t want it… as much as I do… the way I do. You know, for the whole world to know and to acknowledge. His brothers, his dad… Molly. They all know, obviously, we’ve made no mystery of it, passing out in each other’s arms under a Christmas tree a decade ago after too much eggnog and firewhiskey. The only thing Molly hollered about was all the tree decoration we broke in the throes of passion. But this time we’d have to look into their eyes and tell them… say the words and tell them we want this, we want each other above all else. He would be terrified, I know that much. But he’s been terrified for me before. Remember us going to fucking Spiderland in the second year at Hogwarts? He had nightmares for weeks! And yet he had done for me. Would he do this, too, I wonder? Would he want it? Would he finally understand what I’m trying to tell him? Only one way to find out. After all, I’m Harry fucking Potter, and bravery is supposed to be my middle name.

-

“Ron…”

“Hm?”

“You awake?”

“Hmmmmpf. Sort of.”

“I was wondering… Would you like to get married?”

…

“I…”

“Ron, love, start breathing. That’s it. In… and out. In – out. That’s right. Keep doing it. Jesus, I didn't mean to scare the wits out of you! Look, you don’t have to give me your answer right away, just give it some thought…”

“I… oh, fuck it… I love you, Harry, alright?! I’ve been meaning to tell you and I… so now you know. And please don’t make me think about your… proposal. If I start giving it any thought at all, I’ll fuck it all up, like I usually do. So… _yes_. See, no thinking necessary at all. I knew it right off the top of my head. So, that has got to be the right answer, right? Oh, do stop smiling like a loony, you’re frightening my left nipple! Can we do it today?”

“What – like, right now?”

“No, Harry, you daft fuck, not right now, I haven’t even got my briefs on, do I?! I’d scare the magistrate with my bloody crooked root! And _stop the fuck smiling_ , it makes you look mental! I was thinking… a bit later. If we can find a magistrate – those old Wizengammot pricks are all vacationing out in the countryside on Sunday! Perhaps… after the cupcakes?”

“Ron, I don’t often say that, but last time I checked, I was still Harry Potter, the Saviour of this fucking slow, dysfunctional wizarding world and everyone in it, the magistrates included! They’ve been having bloody celebrations in my name for a bloody decade now, for fuck’s sake! So, I reckon if I want to marry the love of my life on a lazy Sunday afternoon I’ll find that magistrate even if I have to _Accio!_ one from Scotland. After the cupcakes it is.”


End file.
